


Most Of All

by scarletmanuka



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, I know, I'm a meanie, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Promiscuous Sherlock, Punk/Rocker Sherlock, Sherlock Likes To Sing, Sherlock Needs A Hug, Sibling Incest, Songfic, holmescest, no actual sex though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14230950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: Sherlock is hurting from a broken heart and he has found a combination of getting high, one night stands, and singing at an Open Mic Night help keep the hurt at bay.





	Most Of All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/gifts).



The club was already busy when Sherlock arrived but that wasn’t unusual for a Friday night. He nodded to the bouncer at the door as he entered, not bothering to drop his heavy coat off at the cloak check. He was always so cold these days, especially when he was itching for a hit, and shivering so much that his teeth were chattering wouldn’t do him any good when it came to his performance. He also found it was much easier to pick up when no one saw his arms, and by the time whatever random stranger he fell into bed with noticed the track marks, they were usually too far gone to bother leaving. It seemed to get easier each time to pretend the looks of disgust that flashed over their faces didn’t hurt and to just concentrate on the feel of lips and teeth and skin and hot flesh before him. 

Making his way to the bar, Sherlock scanned the crowd. The club wasn’t your typical nightclub where music with a thumping bass played so loudly that no one could even recognise the song as they danced and grinded their way across the floor. The music here still had a beat, and people danced, but it felt more like a pub than anything, except that they didn't serve food. It was the only club Sherlock knew of that hosted an Open Mic Night, and it seemed to attract more talent than the karaoke bar down the road. 

Sherlock had been a regular performer at the Open Mic Nights for several months now. There was a small crowd of regulars who always filled the first half of the lineup, the rest made up of whoever showed up on the night and wanted a crack. He’d done it the first time for a lark; he’d been bored and it was a split second decision to sign up, but he’d found that not only was he good at it which made it ridiculously easy to snag a new lay, but it actually quietened his racing mind in a way that only drugs and sex had managed to do so far. Well, sex with one person, not the random guys he took home from here. The familiar ache in his chest returned in full force as his mind drifted dangerously close to thinking about  _ him _ so he forced himself to focus on something else, anything else.

Sliding onto an empty stool at the bar, he caught the attention of the pretty, young bartender manning it. “Lock, darling, looking good as always,” the man said (Dave? Doug? Daryl? Something like that), giving Sherlock an appreciative once over. “The usual?” 

“Please,” he replied, foregoing a name since he was sure he’d get it wrong. They’d never been his forte. 

People that was.

As he waited for his drink to arrive (spiced rum and coke) he spun around and continued to survey the room, seeing what was available for him tonight. He knew that he could have the pick of almost anyone there - it wasn’t vanity, it was simple truth. He was striking in a way that was unusual enough that he stood out from the rest of the crowd. His mop of ebony curls seemed to be irresistible to most people, they were forever touching his hair, running their fingers through it. His blue-green eyes popped thanks to the thick kohl outline that he had drawn around them, and a sky blue gem adorned his left ear. Tonight he wore ripped black jeans and a skin tight black t shirt that only kissed the waistband of the jeans thanks to his tall frame, causing a band of pale skin to show whenever he lifted his arms even a fraction. He was unhealthily thin, a combination of his drug use and a tendency to forget to eat being the cause. His sharp collar bones were visible at the throat of his shirt but his body type seemed to attract enough people to keep his bed warm once a week. 

He only ever looked for a hookup on Friday nights, it was almost tradition by now - though considering his penchant for addiction, perhaps that was more likely the reason why. When he’d first fallen into bed with... _ him _ , it had been a Friday. His lover had been busy with studies and making a life in the big smoke but he had set aside Fridays as  _ their _ time, a small window of time that had belonged to them and only them. For the short period that they had, Sherlock had felt treasured and  _ loved _ , and he yearned for those moments together. He had wanted,  _ needed _ more and he had begun to push, to beg to see his lover more often. When he finally moved to London to commence his own studies at university, he had stupidly thought that there would be no reason for them to be so restricted anymore.

He’d been so wrong. The rejection he’d suffered had broken him in more ways than he’d thought possible. He’d fled, ignoring the explanations and the  _ excuses _ as to why they couldn’t see more of each other, seeking some way to numb his pain. Upon returning to his dorm at the university, Sherlock had been beckoned into a party and it was there that he’d first been introduced to illicit drugs. He started off with a rather innocent little pill but soon he needed more, taking whatever he could get his hands on until one morning he woke up and discovered that he’d somehow ended up a proper junkie.

It didn't matter though. When he was high, Sherlock wasn’t hurting, and when he was coming off a high, the physical pain drowned out his emotional pain. When he woke up in the middle of the night to find himself in a dingy room with a stranger on top of him jerking them both off, he was surprised to find that the act of sex itself, without the  _ feelings _ involved, also helped distract him. And then he’d discovered the singing, and he suddenly had a Three Step Plan to overcome the pain that burned constantly in his heart.

“Here you go, love,” the bartender said from behind him, sliding the drink over.

“Cheers,” Sherlock said, raising the glass to his lips. As he took a sip he considered the man behind the bar, finding him to be quite pleasing on the eye but eventually dismissing him as an option. The young genius was very particular about only ever sampling the goods once and if he started in on the staff, he’d likely find it awkward to return, which would eliminate one of his steps.

Over on the small stage, a heavyset man was setting up a microphone and making sure that his audio equipment was working. There was a guitar and a keyboard for those who wished to use them but Sherlock found most people used a pre-recorded music track, much like the ones they had for karaoke, just without the horrid fluorescent lyrics that would flash up on a screen a split second out of time with the music. A glance at his watch showed it was only ten minutes till Open Mic Night kicked off and so he got up from the bar and made his way over to a chair near the stage, giving him the perfect spot in which to check out the crowd.

A man sitting with a small group of friends caught Sherlock’s eye, something about his auburn hair and blue eyes making the genius’ cock swell in his pants, but soon a plump brunette in a long red skirt returned from the bar and attached herself to him, marking him as taken. Swallowing down his disappointment, Sherlock tore his eyes away but didn't find anyone else as yet who interested him. 

Loneliness washed over him so strongly that Sherlock’s eyes began to prickle with tears. Damn  _ him _ , damn him so much! Why had he had to go and ruin everything? Why couldn’t he be stronger, take more risks? Why had he left Sherlock, discarded him like he meant nothing? He’d not even tried to get in touch, even though he must surely be aware of what depths the young genius had fallen to. Did he simply not care? Was that it? Sometimes Sherlock tried to convince himself that it was because of the opposite - he cared  _ too  _ much and that if he saw Sherlock again he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from falling back into his arms.

The man on the stage, Dave, stepped up to the mic and the music cut off abruptly. He smiled out at the crowd, giving everyone a moment to settle in for the show. “Good evening everyone!” he called, his voice booming around the room with ease. “Thanks for coming out tonight, it’s good to see such a crowd. We’ve got some supremely talented people performing for you tonight so without further ado, please welcome to the stage, Karen!”

Sherlock was so caught up in the painful memories in his head that he didn't even hear which songs Karen sang, only noticing when she exited the stage and Kenji took her place. The regulars were all allocated ten minutes, or roughly three songs, whereas anyone new could only sing one. Sherlock enjoyed experimenting with the songs he sang, changing up the genre and era often. He found his deep, almost smokey voice was best suited to rock or punk songs but he would give pop or ballads a go when he could. Tonight his mind was such a mess that he decided to stick with three of his go-to favourites that he could perform while half asleep or high off his nut. Trying anything new would likely result in his bursting into tears or screaming in anger, and while both were quite appealing to him at that very moment, he didn’t particularly want an audience for it. Maybe the lack of anyone fuckable in the audience so far was a sign that he should head home alone so he could simultaneously cry and scream and then shoot up so he wouldn’t be tempted to send a text message, begging his ex to take him back.

Before he knew it, Sherlock was being called up onto the stage and he gave the crowd a winning smile that he didn’t feel at all. Usually he’d be brought several drinks from admirers and considering he’d blown half of this week’s rent money on a little baggy of cool, white powder, he’d drop a few fake smiles if it meant free drinks. He nodded to Dave and the opening bars of  _ Throw Your Arms Around Me _ started and he mentally counted himself in.

By mid-song the crowd was singing along enthusiastically and Sherlock would need both hands to count how many people - men and women -  who would drop their pants for him right now. For the first time since he’d been participating in the Open Mic Night, he wasn’t at all interested in any of them. He finished the song to loud applause and gestured for Dave to head straight into the next one, his rendition of Bob Seger’s  _ Turn The Page _ . Wolf whistles rang throughout the room as he began to slap his thigh rhythmically to the beat of the song, his voice capturing their attention as he began to build the song. 

He was mid-way through the second chorus when his heart skipped a beat at seeing a familiar silhouette at the very back of the room. At first he was sure that he must be imagining things, his fragile emotional state that evening leading him to hallucinate the one man who Sherlock wanted to see most. The spot lights that swung randomly over the crowd illuminated the space and Sherlock missed a note as he saw that it really was  _ him. _

Mycroft.

The past two years had changed his brother - he was much leaner, his three piece suit much more expensive than before and bespoke, and there was a coldness to his sky blue eyes that hadn't been there previously. But when they fell on Sherlock they warmed, softening his entire face and although the young genius couldn’t quite identify the expression, it wasn’t one of hatred or disgust. His own emotions began to war within him and Sherlock was once more torn between wanting to cry, wanting to jump off the stage and punch Mycroft in his perfect teeth, or run to him and pull him in for a kiss. As Mycroft’s eyes roved over his younger brother’s face, absorbing every sign of the drugs, the sex, and the self loathing, his expression changed, becoming more open so Sherlock could clearly read the play of emotion - disappointment, sadness, anger, but most of all love.

Catching himself, forcing himself back to the present, Sherlock continued the song but it was lacking, nowhere near up to his usual standard. The audience didn't seem to notice or care and they still cheered and clapped as it finished. A scrunched up napkin was thrown onto the stage and he didn’t have to look at it to know that it would have a phone number scrawled across it. He took a deep breath and then stepped over to Dave, murmuring to him, waiting as the man checked his database and then nodded. Sherlock gave him a brief smile and then stepped back over to the mic stand. “Change of plans,” he said into the mic, addressing the regulars in the crowd who knew that  _ Dammit _ by Blink 182 was what he usually ended this trio of songs with. “Let’s try something I’ve not done before.”

A guitar broke the silence and then the drums began and Sherlock started to sing.

_ I see our stars tonight _

_ Do you recall that light? _

_ Or do you ever think of me? _

_ And in your world somewhere _

_ Do memories rip and tear? _

_ The ones that always keep you hanging on _

_ To all that might have been. _

At the back of the room Mycroft stiffened, and Sherlock locked his gaze to his brother’s, making sure he knew without a doubt that he was singing just to him.

_ And I love you now _

_ And I hate you now _

_ And I miss you most of all _

_ All those times we laughed _

_ The scars that you left _

_ Still I miss you most of all _

God, he couldn't believe how much he fucking missed Mycroft. They’d had to hide how they felt for each other, and Mycroft had always struggled more with it than Sherlock, worried he was taking advantage no matter how many times his baby brother had assured him that this was what he wanted. Sherlock had been absolutely, one hundred percent, head over heels in love with Mycroft and at one point he was certain his brother felt the same way. But then he’d asked for more and he’d been left with nothing. 

Sherlock had been utterly shattered. 

_ And by the water’s side _

_ The tall grass where we lied _

_ The nights we cried ourselves to sleep _

_ Most Septembers now _

_ I break down somehow _

_ Remembering all we said _

_ And all those dreams we never got to see _

In reality, the brothers had only had an intimate relationship for two years all up but looking back now, it had seemed to last forever. The nights he'd spent wrapped in Mycroft’s embrace had been the best times of his life but that just made it hurt so much more now when he thought back on them. Could they have made it work? Or was it always destined to fail? To burn hot and bright like a meteorite before it fell through the atmosphere and crashed to Earth. Sherlock didn't know, all he knew was how much it  _ fucking hurt _ right now.

_ And I love you now _

_ And I hate you now _

_ And I miss you most of all _

_ And did you ever find _

_ The star in your mind? _

_ And do you ever think of me? _

Had Mycroft suffered the same? Did he lie in bed, staring into nothingness while he re-lived every touch, kiss, and time they’d made love? Did he cry himself to sleep, wishing for nothing more but to be in the arms of the man he loved more than life itself? Or had he moved on? Was there someone else who shared not only his bed but his heart now? Had he replaced Sherlock as easily as one replaced a dead battery? 

_ Are you somewhere _

_ Without a care? _

_ Or are you alone as I? _

_ Did you ever make it home? _

The real question was what was Mycroft doing  _ here _ ? It certainly didn't appear that he’d stumbled in by accident - this was certainly not somewhere he would chose to frequent for his own amusement. Was he here on business? Was it personal, and he was here to see Sherlock? Had something happened to their parents? Or did he simply wish to see Sherlock himself?

_ And I miss you most of all _

_ And I miss you now _

_ I miss you now, yeah! _

Tears began to run down Sherlock’s cheeks and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mycroft’s, needing his brother to  _ see _ , to know just how he felt.The crowd in front of him had faded away, not even registering, and he acted like they weren’t even there.

_ And I love you now _

_ And I hate you now _

_ And I miss you most of all _

_ Did you ever find _

_ The star in your mind? _

_ And do you miss me most of all? _

The audience were now straining their necks, trying to get a glimpse of who Sherlock was singing to, discovering that this performance had been directed at the tall, elegant man standing in the shadows at the back. Sherlock didn’t bother to wait for the rest of the song to finish, he simply leapt off the stage and pushed his way through the crowd, making his way towards his brother. 

Mycroft watched him come, his face a blank mask, hiding what he felt about seeing Sherlock come towards him.

“ _ Mycroft _ ,” Sherlock said breathily as he finally made his way through the curious audience. He longed to reach out, to touch and although his arm lifted almost involuntarily, he made sure to keep his distance.

Those sky blue eyes searched his face, but Sherlock couldn’t fathom what they were looking for. He himself didn't hide from Mycroft’s searching gaze - he left himself open, allowing his love, pain, anger, sorrow, and adoration shine through. 

After the longest time, Mycroft finally reached out and twined his fingers with Sherlock’s. “Sherlock, I missed you,” he whispered. “Please come home?”

“Just for tonight?” Sherlock asked. “Or always?”

His brother tugged on his hand, drawing him towards him and he reached up with his other hand and trailed his fingertips lovingly down Sherlock’s cheek. “Always, Sherlock, always.”

Smiling, Sherlock ducked his head forward and placed a chaste kiss to Mycroft’s lips. “Lead the way, brother mine.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Songs in this story were:  
> [Throw Your Arms Around Me by Hunters and Collectors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-hDK76bIps)  
> [Turn The Page by Bob Seger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3khH9ih2XJg)  
> [Most of All by Fuel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8rxuktO1mI)


End file.
